


Dancing With Myself

by micehell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Humor, Jumping the Shark reference, wee tiny snippets of angst, wee!chester to a degree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-04
Updated: 2009-06-04
Packaged: 2017-11-12 04:01:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes even the most dedicated of hunters had to take time for romance... even if it was just with themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dancing With Myself

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the year 1989, so Wee!chester to a degree. And for a surprise, the title's from Billy Idol this time. ;)

_February 14, 1989_

John was as dedicated to his job as the next hunter. In fact, the next hunter would be likely to say that John was a little too dedicated to his job (usually followed up by a story about what they'd do next time they clapped eyes on him, but John didn't listen to those stories any more than he listened to anything else they had to say, at least if it didn't relate to hunting). But, really, even the most dedicated of hunters sometimes had to take time for romance.

Even if it was just with themselves, if you know what I mean.

Which, locked in the small, grubby bathroom of the small grubby apartment they were staying at, his kids hopefully asleep on the other side of their own closed door, John was well aware of, and had, in fact, taken matters into his own hands... er, so to speak.

He tried never to imagine Mary when he did this, the image too fraught with memories that had a rather dampening affect upon his libido. On the other hand, it felt kind of fake to imagine the perfect figures and faces of models and actresses, who had personal coaches and botox instead of children and laugh lines. Sometimes he tried to fantasize about the women he came across on the road, perfect in their more generous bodies, their more genuine smiles, but even that felt wrong, too much like the empty feeling taking off his wedding ring gave him. But sometimes, the best of times, he managed to not think of anything at all, nothing (no flames, no fear, no blood) behind his eyes but the pleasure of his own hand on his dick, and a moment just for him.

Unfortunately for John that evening, a moment was all he got, barely getting his zipper down before a knock came at the door. He knew it was Sammy from the hesitation on it. Dean, just turned ten, had decided he was a man now, and tended to demonstrate this by doing everything forcefully. Or at least as forcefully as a stick-thin ten-year-old could.

But the small tap-tap-tap was his youngest, and where John might have stood a chance of telling Dean to come back later, Sammy would want to know _why_. Hoping that his normal bad luck would give him a break, he left his jeans unzipped, holding his shirt down on top of... things, and hoping that Sammy would be quick.

What John hadn't really counted on was that six-year-olds were of a _certain_ height. He could hear his bad luck cackling madly as Sammy looked straight at... things, nearly poking it with the finger he pointed at it as he asked, "What's that?"

As much as he'd loved Mary, still loved Mary, it was moments like this that made John seriously wonder if getting remarried was as bad an idea as he thought. Desperately searching for an answer that would keep the perpetual _why_ 's down to a minimum, and that wouldn't be too traumatic for _John_ , he choked under the pressure, blurting out, "That's my peepee." Which meant that he felt monumentally stupid as well as embarrassed.

And resigned to going down in a hail of questions.

"Why is it so big?"

"How does it get small again?"

"Are you sure that's how you make babies? 'Cause Brian up in apartment 220 has a tape he plays a lot, and that happens to their peepees, but there are no babies at the end."

John felt by _astronomically_ stupid by the end of it, using soccer metaphors ("Sometimes one of them slips past the goalie"), and lies ("You'll understand when you get older"), and eventually throwing Dean to the lion to save himself ("Ask your brother if you can look at that magazine he has stashed under his mattress").

Looking on the bright side, though, John had to admit that his frustration with the way the evening had gone was pretty much cleared up after his farewell conversation with Brian in 220. He was especially pleased that Brian, at least after the first punch, didn't ask a single question.

~*~

_November 22, 1989_

It wasn't quite the holiday yet, but John was very thankful to have no jobs imminent, and, even better, the house to himself. And he was certainly ready to celebrate.

Even if it was just with himself, if you know what I mean... again.

Which John, locked in another grubby bathroom, in another grubby room (though this time it was a motel instead of an apartment, hopefully cutting down on any potential Brians... though if Sammy heard the couple two doors down going at it, there were bound to be more questions), was well aware of, and had once again taken matters in his own hands... so to... well, you know.

He'd considered doing this up proper, spread out on the grubby queen he'd claimed as his own, but tempting Murphy was a sucker bet, so John had played it safe. Seat down on the toilet, zipper down on his pants, emptying his mind of everything but the...

Door to the apartment slamming open. He barely even had time to react (one second for yelling at himself for being too careless, one second for flicking a metaphorical finger at his metaphorical bad luck for not cutting him a fucking metaphorical break at least once), when there was a pounding knock on the bathroom door. Dean, all the macho that being nearly eleven gave him coming out in full force.

"Dad, let me in. I really need the bathroom or I'm going to be--"

He never did say what he was going to be, but John knew how to read an audio clue when he got one, and the sound of retching from the other side, not to mention the odor of the vomit already pooling under the door, pretty much gave it away.

Looking back on it later, it might have been funny: John, worried, forgetting to do up his pants, flapping free in the wind as rushed to get his oldest up out of the mess he'd made. At the time though, with Dean giving him a pained look, and saying, "Gross! I did not need to be thinking about Dad!Sex on top of an already heaving stomach," John felt he could be forgiven for not laughing. When Dean promptly demonstrated what thinking about Dad!Sex made him feel like, right down John's shirt, John also felt like he could be forgiven for not being quite as thankful as he'd been that morning.

And if, when he went back to pick up Sammy for the day, he expressed his frustration with the nurse ("You shouldn't have yelled at her, Dad, she was kind of hot") about letting a student go home sick without calling the parent first ("But I just took off, so it wasn't like she knew") a little more forcefully than he should have ("You should have seen him, Dean, he was really loud... plus he kind of smelled"), well, it wasn't like they weren't leaving soon anyway.

The next day, Dean was thankful he felt better, Sammy was thankful for the Spam roast, and John was thankful for the fact that he was never going to even try to masturbate again.

~*~

_January 11, 1990_

Ghouls. It just had to be ghouls. John just hoped he'd gotten all of them.

He took one last look around; the tiny little Minnesota town, calm and pretty under a blanket of snow, twinkling in the street lights just then lighting in the coming dusk. There wasn't a hint of the terror they'd been through for the last week. This was the kind of town he'd have liked to have raised his children in, before he'd known about the types of things even tiny little Minnesota towns weren't safe from.

Windom would have been a good place for them, though. Almost named for them, a Winchester kingdom just waiting to happen. And there were other... things that were attractive about it.

In more ways than one, if you know what I mean... which I would hope you would by now, at least.

Which John, still refreshed from his stay in a non-grubby bed in a non-grubby room, where... things were taken in hand, among other things, by someone else's hands... so to... well, you should know that by now, too. Kate had certainly made him feel like a King.

And who knew, maybe one day, if things worked out, he'd come back and see her again. He laughed, knowing that it was just his luck (bad, bad, and more bad) that by the time he'd get back, she'd already be settled down and raising her kids.

Thinking back over it, though, he should get rid of the journal entries he'd made on this one. Yeah, the lore on ghouls would be useful, but Dean treated the journal like bedtime reading, and he just knew the day would come when Sammy got his hands on it, and the last thing he needed was Dean's reaction to the thought of Dad!Sex or Sammy's favorite game of 20(thousand) questions.

After all, what the boys didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

/story


End file.
